Beginnings
by anolinde
Summary: Spike doesn't get off on the right foot with Team One's newest member, and he decides to change that. He has no idea what he's in for. Spike/OC. M for language and late-night activities. Prequel to "Breathe."
1. Boy Meets Girl

**A/N:** This is the prequel to my story "Breathe." I would recommend reading that first, but it's definitely not required!

To those who wandered over here from "Breathe"... enjoy. ;)

* * *

**Part I: Boy Meets Girl**

Spike was running late to work, so naturally his car picked that morning to run out of gas. _Shit_, he thought, pulling into the closest station_._ Greg and Ed were going to be on his back about this one, because today wasn't just any day at the SRU—today they were running drills with the thirty remaining candidates for the open spot on Team One, which meant that he had to be on hand for the evaluation process.

Cursing his luck, he jammed his credit card into the first machine available. "Come on, come on," he muttered, waiting impatiently for the transaction to be validated.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," a female voice snapped on the other side of the pump.

Someone, it seemed, had gotten off to an even worse start this morning than Spike.

"Why the _hell_ won't you accept this card, you piece of shit—"

Spike couldn't help it. Even though he was running late, even though he was supposed to be filling up his own car, he peered over… and promptly got an eyeful of yoga pants, because the woman had dropped her credit card and was apparently flexible enough to pick it up without bending her knees.

"Fuck," she grumbled, straightening. Spike caught a glimpse of bright green eyes before she turned around and opened her car door. (With him still staring, because he kind of had this _thing_ for girls in yoga pants, and it really wasn't helping that her legs were fantastic.)

The next second, though, he winced, because Madonna's "Like a Virgin" was blaring from her speakers. Madonna was okay and all, but he had no interest in anything from the eighties at this ungodly hour. He silently deducted a few points, only to give them all back when she bent over again to fish through her purse.

She resurfaced and stiffened, the only warning he had before she said loudly, "Do you want to take a picture or something?"

"Um," was the only thing Spike could stutter when she whirled around. He was pretty sure his face could have matched a fire hydrant.

She lifted an eyebrow, folding her arms across her chest. She was a few years younger than him, and probably at least sixty pounds lighter, but he could tell right away that she wasn't going to take any of his crap. "I-I'm so sorry," he stammered—and he meant it, he knew women had to deal with assholes all the time and he had always tried to be discreet. "I wasn't… I mean, I was, but I wasn't going to harass you or anything—" His foot was so far down his throat, his stomach had already started digesting.

And she was still watching him, but now the corner of her mouth were twitching and—was she?—yes, she was definitely trying not to laugh. He didn't know what was worse: how mortifying it all was, or the fact that he couldn't stop looking at her hair, which was shoulder-length and still damp from the shower. It reminded him of chocolate and cinnamon and he clearly hadn't gotten enough sleep last night.

"Tell you what," she said. "We'll pretend this never happened."

Spike was all too happy to agree. But then something occurred to him, and he told her, "Hold the credit card in for a few seconds."

"What?" She blinked, instantly suspicious.

"I thought I heard you saying something about the machine not taking your credit card?" Fuck, he _knew_ what he'd heard—but she was the kind of girl who could have ripped him to shreds in high school without even trying, so it came out like a second-guessed question. "That's the shitty pump, it makes you leave it in longer."

"Oh." She looked down at the plastic in her hand. "Uh, thanks." She glanced back up, and he thought he was about to get a smile; but then she said, "Your pump's dripping."

Sure enough, it was. All over his shoes.

It was probably a metaphor for something.

* * *

He managed to get to work in time, but barely, so of course Ed glanced up from the sign-in sheet long enough to say something about it. There was no time for a lengthier reprimand, though: the final thirty recruits were assembling in the gym, ready for the first round of drills. At the end of the day, twenty-nine of them would be gone, and they knew it. None of them were talking to each other.

Greg had already gone through all of their applications, but it was the first time Spike had seen any of them. He quickly found Lou, who was surveying the candidates with a grin on his face. "Remember being in their shoes?" Lou asked, smirking. "Can't say I miss it."

"Who do you think's going to be the first to puke?"

Before Lou could answer, they were joined by the rest of Team One. If the recruits had been quiet earlier, now Spike could hear them breathing.

After a quick speech, Greg divided the candidates into seven groups. He was responsible for conducting the psychological evaluation, so his recruits were directed to the briefing room. Rolie was running negotiation, and his simulations would make or break some of the strongest applicants. Ed brought another group to the shooting range, where he was sure to make at least one of them lose their cool. (Spike knew what it was like to have Ed yelling in your ear while you were trying to hit a target, and it was not pleasant.) Jules was in charge of the obstacle course they'd set up outside; one guy was already checking her out, and Spike was willing to bet that he wouldn't be back tomorrow. Wordy and Lou took their groups to the annex building used for entry practice, leaving Spike to assess the combat skills of his own recruits.

"All right," he said, glancing at the candidates in front of him, "I'm going to run you through some sparring exercises…" And then he stopped, because his gaze had landed on a familiar pair of green eyes.

It was the woman from the gas station, her cheeks turning pink as she stared determinedly back at him.

She was still wearing those yoga pants.

Spike's hesitation lasted no more than a second, but it was long enough for the male recruits to notice. Some of them looked annoyed, and he had a sinking feeling that they were going to grumble about favoritism if they didn't advance and the woman did. The rest were eying her like she was a piece of meat. A piece of meat they either wanted to humiliate on the sparring mat or fuck on their mattress.

"I'm going to run you through some sparring exercises," he continued, clearing his throat. The men finally tore their eyes away from the woman, whose face had grown steadily colder. "Why don't you partner up—no, wait, I'll pair you off." He cringed at how feeble he sounded. He was already younger than most of the guys in front of him, he didn't need to give them another reason to question his authority.

He quickly took attendance, making sure that everyone in his group was accounted for. The woman, Keira Ford, didn't so much as bat an eyelash when Spike called her name. She was already over the surprise of seeing him, and a look of quiet determination had settled over her. Spike hoped, for her sake, that she could hold her own against the other guys.

After pairing the recruits up—Spike purposefully put Keira with the least intimidating, douchey-looking guy of the bunch, and he had a feeling this didn't escape her attention—he ran them through some basic drills. Take-downs, chokeholds, headlocks, ground maneuvers, anything and everything he could think of; and he watched with satisfaction as Keira easily got the better of her opponent, hardly breaking a sweat in the process.

Eventually he had them form a circle, and one by one he called them into the center of the ring to defend a series of "attacks" from the other recruits. When it was Keira's turn, she stepped into the middle and coolly surveyed the men around her, as if daring them to try their luck. The silent challenge in her eyes ruffled more than a few feathers. Spike could see the men's distaste for her, and he had a good idea what was running through their minds: affirmative action, feminism at its worst, upstarts needing to be taught a lesson.

It wasn't long before someone took the bait: Sean Hannigan, a recruit of the all brawn and no brains variety, who bore a rather striking resemblance to a truck and probably could have eaten Keira for breakfast. Based on Spike's observations, his sparring "technique" consisted of charging his opponent and pummeling them until they gave up—which almost always worked, given how much power he could pack into each of his punches. On the other hand, his speed and agility were practically nonexistent, which could potentially be exploited by the right person.

Only Spike had no idea if Keira was up for the task. She'd done well enough with her first partner, but the size difference between her and Sean was so pronounced that he was actually concerned for her safety. Yet if he interfered in any way, then it wouldn't be fair to the others. He couldn't make allowances for someone just because they were smaller than the rest of the competition, not to mention the can of worms he'd be opening when that someone was a woman.

There was no choice but to let things play out and hope Keira could handle Hannigan on her own. Spike's misgivings lingered, however, and increased when he saw the glimmer in Hannigan's eyes. "Want me to go easy on you?" the recruit asked as he stood in front of her. His tone was all benevolence, but there was no mistaking the snide undercurrent to it. "You don't look like you could take much of a hit. No offense." He laughed, as if the issue were her size and not her gender.

"That's okay," Keira replied easily. "You don't look like you could land one on me. No offense."

_Please let her win,_ Spike thought, barely managing to stifle a smirk. _Please let her kick his ass._

As it turned out, he didn't need to worry. From the moment the match began, Keira toyed with Sean like he was a warm-up. She was smart enough to recognize that she couldn't beat him in a boxing match, so instead she chose to outmaneuver him. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get in a single strike, let alone pin her down long enough to take her to the ground. Whenever he came close, Keira would simply slip away, never giving him a chance to get the upper hand. Soon she had him literally spinning in circles, grunting in frustration each time she danced out of his reach.

"You can't keep this cute shit up forever, Barbie," Sean finally snapped, losing his temper when he almost tripped over his own feet after Keira eluded him yet again.

"Hey," Spike growled in warning, just as he located Sean's name on his clipboard and wrote a big fat _NO_ next to it.

Keira didn't respond, although her eyes had narrowed into slits. The next time Sean barreled towards her, she didn't dart away. Instead, she stepped into the attack, trapped his arm, and used it for leverage as she kicked his legs out from under him. Sean had just enough wits left to bring her down with him, and Spike winced at the sound her back made as it slammed against the mat. Sean climbed on top of her, and for a moment Spike thought it was all over—but then Keira hooked one leg over his neck and twisted, forcing him into a painful-looking hold. Sean struggled for several seconds, his anger and ruined pride palpable, before conceding the match.

Keira released him at once and stood up. There was a slight pause as the other recruits scrambled to reevaluate their opinions of her, most of them coming up at a loss. Eventually, a brave soul jumped in to attack her—and then Spike had the supreme pleasure of watching her wipe the floor with every last one of them, more than making up for her shorter stature as she defended herself with breathtaking ease.

Sean made one final play for redemption, wrapping his arm around her neck in a choke that Spike instantly knew wasn't fake. Before Keira could fend him off, he used his superior strength to simply lift her off her feet, holding her up with a smirk as if to emphasize how helpless she would be in the face of a real threat. Keira's legs flailed almost comically in the air; in a single stroke, and in those few seconds, she was on the verge of losing what little respect she'd wrung from the men.

But while the others had started chuckling, some of them looking relieved that one of their own had finally put the woman in her place, it was Keira who had the last laugh. With a few well-aimed strikes to Sean's kidney and groin, Keira dislodged him enough to break the hold; then, moving so fast that Spike didn't realize what was happening until it was already over, she brought him to the ground and delivered what would have been a nose-breaking elbow had she not stopped herself at the last second.

"Still want to call me Barbie?" Spike could have sworn he heard her whisper in Sean's ear.

After a few more drills, in which it became clear—to Spike's satisfaction, and the other recruits' collective annoyance—that Keira was the most qualified martial artist of the group, he sent them on their way. He tried to catch Keira's eye while she was gathering her belongings, even though he wasn't sure what he wanted to say, or if in fact it was a good idea for him to say anything at all. But she studiously ignored him, hoisting up her bag and following the others on to the next station without a backwards glance. It occurred to him that she, too, wanted to avoid any accusations of favoritism; she might even have been irritated with him for picking her first sparring partner the way he had. And she would have had a point on both accounts.

He didn't see her again until late that afternoon, when by chance he came across her as he was exiting the bathroom. The recruits had finished for the day, so most of them were long gone. Keira was getting ready to leave as well, her car keys on the floor beside her as she laced up her sneakers. With her cell phone tucked between her head and shoulder, she didn't notice Spike emerging into the corridor.

"I think it went okay," she was saying. "I'm not sure. They don't tell you anything, obviously. And there were a lot of really good candidates. I probably didn't make it." She paused for a moment, listening; a faint blush, and a small grin, came to her face. "Thanks." By now, Spike was close enough to hear a male voice on the other end of the line. "Yeah, the psych eval was rough, I—" She glanced up and saw Spike approaching. "I'll tell you about it at dinner, okay? I'll be home soon. Say hi to the little Power Ranger for me. Bye."

"Husband?" Spike asked as she hung up.

Keira shook her head. "Brother."

"Ah." Spike hesitated, wondering if the kid was hers. He didn't dare ask. "You guys live together?"

"Yeah." She looked away and started picking up her things, a non-verbal "fuck off" if there ever was one.

"Well, hey, no judgment here, I still live with my parents," Spike said, in case she thought he'd meant the question as a criticism. But Keira was already standing up, clearly eager to leave, and he didn't want to be the person who overstayed their welcome in a conversation. "You were really good today," he remarked instead, reasoning that there was nothing wrong with a little post-tryout encouragement before they parted ways.

But apparently he'd reasoned incorrectly, because Keira's expression soured as she turned to face him. "You made it easy for me," she replied bluntly. "You set me up with the smallest guy in the room."

And there was really nothing he could say to that, because she was right—even though she'd proven more than capable of holding her own.

"If I make the team," she told him, frowning, "I want to know I did it because I earned it. Not because I had someone helping me."

In spite of his embarrassment, he found himself admiring her for confronting him like this, when she had little to gain and everything to lose—he was, after all, one of the people involved in the hiring process. "Look, you're right," he said, because the first thing he owed her was an apology. "I did put you with someone I thought wasn't going to give you a hard time. Not just because of the size issue, but, well… some of these guys can be assholes when they feel threatened by a woman. But I shouldn't have done it at all, and I'm sorry. For what it's worth, you obviously didn't need my interference."

She considered his apology, looking slightly mollified. "Thanks," she muttered at length. "I should get going."

"Have a good night," he replied—but she was already walking away from him, so he had to call after her like an idiot. Keira slowed down for a second, her shoulders tensing as if she might turn around; but then she merely nodded and kept going, leaving Spike to wonder if he'd ever had a more awkward first encounter with someone.

* * *

"So," Greg began, once the beer and pizza had arrived and the members of Team One were settled in the briefing room for what promised to be a long night, "ladies first. Jules, any standouts?"

It was Spike's first time on the other side of the decision-making process, but he had a vague idea of how today's would go. First, each officer had a chance to name the candidates who'd caught their eye. Anyone who had made it this far was already among the best in the city, so it was doubly impressive if they managed to outshine their peers—and doing so gave their applications extra weight once the team started going through them one by one.

Spike already knew his top choice—even after six more rounds of recruits, no one else had sailed so easily through his drills—but he was still pleasantly surprised when Jules, without any hesitation, supplied Keira's name.

"Keira Ford," Greg repeated. There was a shuffling sound as everyone searched for her file. "Twenty-seven years old, originally from Vancouver, currently serving in the 55th. Recommended to us by her sergeant, Bill."

"She's got a brother serving in the 55th with her," Rolie noted. "Jason Ford. I've worked with him before, he's a good officer."

Wordy frowned. "Isn't she kind of young for the SRU? She's only got five years of experience."

"I didn't have that much more," Spike pointed out.

"Jules, why'd you pick her?" Greg wanted to know.

Jules shrugged. "Easy. She kicked ass and took names all over the obstacle course. I've never seen so many grown men that close to crying."

It took a while for the laughter to die down, namely because Rolie choked on his beer and had to spit it back out into the bottle. When things were finally calm enough to proceed, Spike ventured, "I'm with Jules. She was hands-down the best that I saw. Wordy, she'd give you a run for your money."

There were some murmurs at that: Wordy was their go-to guy for martial arts expertise.

"She did fine at entry," Lou said, prompting a nod of agreement from Wordy. "Fast and efficient. Probably wouldn't send her in to break down the heaviest door, but—"

"We've got Wordy for that," Greg finished, grinning. "All right, Eddie?"

"No complaints here," Ed replied with a shrug. "She wasn't the best, but she was good. Kept her cool under fire."

"Under you, you mean," Wordy remarked, drawing a smile from Ed—but nothing in the way of denial.

"Rolie?"

The sandy-haired officer glanced up from his notes. "She successfully talked down two subjects and a jumper. Got the sense that she was doing it by the book, so I threw in a few curveballs, but she held it together. Didn't get flustered, didn't let the subject lead her. Not the best bedside manner, though."

"What do you mean?" Greg inquired.

"Well, like I said, she was going pretty strictly by the book. Negotiation 101, like she was reading from a script the entire time. She did everything right, but it was kind of… impersonal. Didn't do small talk, didn't really put herself out there."

"Huh." Greg frowned. "Did anyone see her interacting with the other recruits?"

There was a collective pause as everyone racked their memories. "She didn't," Lou finally said, and the others reported more or less the same.

"What'd you think of her, boss?" Ed asked.

There was a noticeable hesitation before Greg responded. _Shit_, Spike thought, fearing the worst. _She failed the psych eval._ All too often, candidates who looked great on paper and excelled at the physical aspects of the job were tripped up by the psychological component. They second-guessed themselves, dwelled too much on their mistakes, or simply weren't prepared for what they'd witness in the line of duty. And Greg was better at picking them out than most.

"I'm not sure," the sergeant finally replied. "First impression was that she was polite, but distant. She answered all my questions, but never elaborated unless I asked her to. I got the sense that she didn't want to talk about her background."

"Her background?" Wordy echoed. "Like, her family? Or her resume?"

"Family," Greg responded. "She mentioned a brother and a nephew, but she stopped engaging when I asked about her parents. Got a lot of monosyllabic answers. Seems like there are some issues there."

"Yeah, but that's not going to affect her job performance, is it?" Spike couldn't resist asking. "Not everyone gets along with their parents."

"That's true," Greg conceded, glancing at him. "Then again, if we get a call and it has to do with family relationships, she might have some biases that she can't separate from the situation. That said, she's clearly done her homework. She took it in stride when I corrected her, didn't get defensive—which is more than I can say about some of her peers."

There were some chuckles at that; they'd already heard about the worst of the evaluations.

"Let's move on for now," Greg suggested, "and come back to Keira later."

Spike's phone buzzed. As his teammates began discussing another candidate, he discreetly checked his inbox, finding a text from Lou.

_So, do you want her on the team because of her skills, or her yoga pants?_

_Don't be sexist,_ Spike texted back, although the correct answer was probably closer to "both" than he would have liked. _Go away._

He saw Lou smirk when he read the message, but there was no more time for texting. Over the next few hours, Team One whittled the thirty remaining candidates down to three final choices: a senior officer with extensive experience in negotiations, but who had visibly struggled during the physical drills; a recruit whose cumulative marks were higher than all his fellow contenders', but had the tendency of losing focus or getting flustered on the rare occasion he made a mistake; and Keira, whose excellent scores and ability to remain calm under pressure had kept her consistently in the running—although Spike noticed that Greg had remained conspicuously quiet each time her name came up.

"All right, so, we all know Jules is gunning to have her name removed from the door to the ladies' locker room," Ed remarked when it was time to review Keira's application again. Spike silently thanked Jules for continuing to advocate for Keira throughout the night, which had allowed him to ease off and avoid further snarky commentary from Lou. But now that they were on the last round of discussions before they took a vote, he was prepared to step up to bat again if necessary—although he had a feeling that the only holdout left was Greg.

"Wordy, what do you think? Would you want her on our team?" Ed asked.

Wordy had long ago overcome his reservations about Keira's age, once he'd seen her impressive scores and read the glowing letter of recommendation from her sergeant; now he nodded, saying, "I agree with Jules. Keira's gone above and beyond our qualifications, and she's got a good head on her shoulders, so she's got my vote. Besides, we need more women at the SRU."

"What, a wife and all daughters and you don't have enough women in your life?" Rolie snickered.

Wordy waved him off good-naturedly. "I'm serious, though. Too many old bald guys around here, right, Ed?"

"Hey, you'll be getting there soon enough." Ed grinned. "Lou?"

"Fine by me," Lou said with a shrug; his preferred recruit had already been knocked out of the running because of their abysmal score on the negotiation test. "At least we won't have to worry about her having a heart attack when we're doing drills."

"Hey, Arthur would be a solid addition to the team," Rolie retorted, defending his top choice. "He's been in the force longer than Keira's been alive."

"…Which is exactly my point."

"Go easy on the old folks, Lou," Greg admonished with a chuckle, diffusing what might have devolved into an actual argument. "We're not all that bad. Spike, what do you think?"

Spike took care to weigh his words before replying. "I'm with Jules and Wordy. She seems kind of socially awkward, but that's not a big deal. I like the fact that she doesn't—" _Easy there,_ he warned himself—"didn't take shit from anyone. I mean, you had to see her beat the crap out of all those guys. It was beautiful."

"The man's in love," Lou cracked.

As the team had a laugh at his expense, Spike wadded up the nearest napkin and whipped it at his friend. Lou gave him a look that said, _Really? Are you two?_ and chucked it right back, his aim far more accurate than Spike's.

"Greg, what about you?" Ed finally asked.

The others quieted down as Greg ruminated for a moment—a moment that was a little too long for Spike's comfort. "I think," he eventually began, "it's important to remember that a team is the sum of its parts. We have to consider who's going to be able to work cohesively with the existing unit, and who can contribute skills that we're either lacking or need more of. Which is why, Rolie, I'm not convinced Arthur's the person we need. He's an excellent negotiator, and I respect his expertise—but we've already got that area covered. I've been able to handle most of the subjects, and lately Jules has been stepping up to the plate as well. And she's done an excellent job of it." Ed clapped a smiling Jules on the back. "So while Arthur's great at what he does, he's not what I had in mind when I started the hiring process."

Greg paused for a few seconds and looked around at all of them. "What's become increasingly clear to me as we've been narrowing down the candidates is that this is a damn good team. We don't have any glaring gaps in the structure, and any individual weaknesses are balanced out by others' strengths. So it seems to me that we don't need anyone to make up for something we can't do ourselves—we need someone who can help us be better at what we do. More efficient, flexible; more capable of responding to the challenges that we face when we're out there." There were several nods of agreement as he spoke, even from Rolie. "And with that in mind, the person who best fits that criteria—I think, anyway—is Keira Ford."

"I thought you didn't like her holding back on you during the psych eval," Ed immediately countered.

"I didn't," Greg agreed. "But, judging by your observations of her"—he was addressing everyone now, not just Ed—"she might just not be all that outgoing. Which is okay until proven otherwise. Does that sound reasonable to you, Ed?"

"If it's fine with you, it's fine with me," Ed replied. "Should we take a vote?"

They all agreed to Ed's suggestion. A minute later, Spike had to repress a triumphant fist pump as Keira officially became the youngest member of Team One.

Jules had no such compunctions. "Finally, some more lady power," she crowed when the vote was over. "You guys better watch out."

"I'm quivering in my combat boots," Ed deadpanned. "Or, I would, except I think the boss weighs more than the two of you combined…"

Greg had never been above laughing at himself; he did so now, adding, "I think it's safe to say we've all learned from Jules that it's not the size of the package that matters."

Spike smirked. "There's an inappropriate joke in there, boss."

"Okay, okay." Amidst the groans and laughter that had followed Spike's remark, Greg held up his hands. "Obviously it's time for us to go home. Is everyone okay with the decision we've made today? Ed?" One by one he went around the group, making eye contact with each person as they gave their response. When it was Spike's turn, he didn't hesitate; his "yes" was loud and clear.

"All right," Greg said after they had all given their consent. With a sigh of relief, he closed his hiring binder. "Keira Ford, welcome to Team One."


	2. Liquid Courage (Stupidity?)

**Part II: Liquid Courage/Stupidity**

The crowd at the bar had begun to filter out, the late hour finally catching up to its working class patrons. The room's insides still hummed with conversation, and everywhere you looked someone was knocking down a shot or draining the last of their beer; yet it was definitely emptier than it had been half an hour ago. Toronto was a thriving city, but even she had to sleep on occasion.

For Spike, this was the best time of the evening. When everyone who had been looking to get hammered or laid cleared out, with more of the former having achieved their goal than the latter, the real conversations could begin. Make no mistake: Spike loved going out, and he was no stranger to either being driven home or walking out of the bar with a woman under his arm. Tonight, though, he was content to sit back and relax with his some of his SRU teammates.

"All right, I'm out for the night," Jules said beside him, taking her coat off the back of her chair. "Lou, don't go too crazy with that gin and tonic."

Lou shot her a glare over the drink he'd been nursing for the better part of an hour. "Don't go too crazy with your drywall," he retorted cheekily, referring to one of Jules's more recent weekend warrior ventures—which often took precedence over her love life.

Jules rolled her eyes, then glanced over at the bar. "Tell Keira I said goodbye, all right?"

Spike and Lou promised that they would. "Assuming she's not too trashed from all the water she's been drinking, that is," Lou muttered when Jules walked away.

Spike couldn't help it: he smirked, his gaze wandering over towards where the newest member of Team One was asking the bartender for another water. She didn't get any strange looks from the man—he was too used to it at this point to raise an eyebrow—but the guy next to her certainly thought it was odd, and he used the excuse to lean over and start talking to her.

"How long do you want to bet it's going to take her to shake him off?" Lou asked, peering over in mild interest. "I'm guessing thirty seconds."

"Ten," Spike countered. As it turned out, he was right: in practically record time, Keira grabbed her water bottle and snaked out from the guy's arm. She began making her way back to the table, an annoyed expression on her face.

"Is she ever going to go home with a guy?" Lou wondered, taking another sip of his drink.

"Not in front of us, she isn't," Spike predicted. Keira was private to the point of it being a flaw; no one on the team knew much about her besides her name and the fact that she lived with her brother. Anything else—anything remotely personal—she refused to talk about. "Besides, she wasn't attracted to him."

"You don't think she plays for the other team, do you?"

No matter how reserved Keira was, though, there were some things she just couldn't hide. "Nah," Spike said. "At least, not that I can tell. But she likes blonds, and that guy had brown hair."

"And how the hell did you figure that one out?" Lou asked in disbelief.

"Because I'm observant, that's how," Spike said proudly. "Besides, it's really obvious once you've noticed it. Look, she's about to cross paths with one."

Sure enough, Keira's eyes flickered discreetly—yet appreciatively—over the blond grad student passing her on his way to the bar.

"Damn," Lou said, tipping his drink in Spike's direction. "You're good."

"So, what was wrong with the guy at the bar?" Spike questioned cheerfully when Keira rejoined them, water bottle in hand.

"Total asshole." Keira started gulping down her water as if it were a very alcoholic beverage. "Basically implied that he wanted to get me drunk and take me back to his place. What a fucking prick. I hate guys like that."

Spike and Lou's eyebrows shot up. Normally, Keira hovered quietly in the background; it was rare to hear such vitriol spewing from her mouth.

"Want me to go talk to him?" Spike asked, having a sinking feeling that Keira was more shaken than she was letting on. And, well, even though she could probably kick his ass six ways from Sunday, he didn't like seeing her upset and he had one of those urges to be all manly and protect her. His father had always told him, "You treat the women in your life like they're the best god damn things on this planet, because they are, and because they'll make your life miserable if you don't."

Keira, being Keira, immediately shook her head. "I've already said the magic words about being a cop."

"Does that actually work?" Lou wanted to know.

"Better than mace," Keira assured him.

Lou finished the last of his gin and tonic. "Well, that's it for me tonight," he announced, setting down the glass and yawning. "I'd better get home before I pass out. See you guys on Monday?"

"I should be heading out, too," Keira muttered after Lou left, in an awkward, I-don't-want-to-be-the-last-one-here sort of way.

"No, no, stick around for a bit," Spike pleaded, putting on his best puppy-dog face. "I just got started on this." He held up his Corona as evidence.

Keira hesitated for a second, then reluctantly lowered herself back into her chair. Spike beamed—partly because he'd gotten his way, and partly because it was the first time he could remember being alone with Keira. He wasn't used to teammates rebuffing his attempts at conversation, but he had consistently run up against a wall with Keira and he was determined to find a way around it. There had to be _something_ she was willing to talk about, right?

"What is it?" Keira asked, a note of suspicion in her voice.

Spike realized that he'd been staring at her. "Nothing," he said quickly, lifting the Corona to his mouth to hide the faintest beginnings of a blush on his cheeks. "I was just thinking," he continued after he'd swallowed, trying to regain his footing, "that I don't really know you that well, and you've been on the team for five months."

Keira shrugged, already looking uncomfortable. "There's not much to know," she replied.

"Bullshit," Spike scoffed. "You're a weirdly interesting person."

She narrowed her green eyes. "How much have you had to drink?"

"A little," Spike admitted. He probably wouldn't have said that if he had been on his first beer. "But mostly I'm just in a good mood."

Like the rest of the team, Keira had figured out a long time ago that there was no stopping Michelangelo Scarlatti when he was in a good mood, and that the only course of action was to hunker down and wait it out. She sighed, asking, "What do you want to know about me?"

Spike didn't make the mistake of thinking he had won a victory, because he'd seen other teammates get this far and then start asking all the wrong questions. "I guess that depends on what you want me to know about you. Maybe we should establish some ground rules."

"Some _what_?" Keira looked as if she wasn't sure whether or not to laugh.

Spike shrugged, trying to hide the fact that he was growing more intrigued by the second. "Well, I never know what subjects to avoid with you. I've mostly figured out that you don't want to talk about where you grew up, but I'm pretty sure there's more. And I want to have stuff to talk to you about."

"You're insane, you know that," Keira muttered, though he noticed that she was relaxing a little.

"So I've heard," Spike answered with a grin. "So, come on, what's off-limits for you?"

"You're not serious."

"One hundred percent serious."

"You're serious?"

"Mmhm."

She eyed him curiously, not knowing what to make of his proposition. "What are you getting out of this?"

"Hopefully a friend." _A really attractive friend,_ he added to himself, watching as she twisted her dark hair around her fingers.

Keira seemed to be considering his offer. Eventually, she leaned back in her chair. "What's off-limits for me?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Yeah. Whatever you don't want me asking you about, name it," Spike told her.

"Okay," she said, taking a deep breath and looking away for a moment. "Uh… My entire childhood."

"Shit."

She continued as if he hadn't interrupted. "College."

"So, uh… Basically the first twenty-two years of your life?"

"Twenty-three," Keira corrected him, without missing a beat. "I took a year off."

Spike was tempted to ask why, but that would have been breaking the rules. "All right, I can work with that," he decided. "What's your favorite color?"

"My favorite _color_?"

"I've gotta start somewhere, right?"

"You're actually insane," Keira muttered, shaking her head.

"So, come on, tell me. Favorite color."

"Um… I guess red?" she ventured.

"Favorite movie?"

"Wait a second," Keira immediately objected. "If I have to answer all of these questions, the least you can do is answer them, too."

"Okay, fine," Spike agreed, amused by her reaction. "Green. Favorite movie?"

"_Dirty Dancing_."

Spike grimaced. "Cheesy eighties dance movie? No, thank you."

"And let me guess, you're into dick flicks."

"_What _flicks?"

"Dick flicks," Keira repeated, smirking at him. "You know, a testosterone overdose. Bunch of manly men running around and blowing shit up. Maybe one female character in the entire thing, existing solely for the purpose of eye candy. No plot necessary."

"Well, when you put it that way…" Maybe he needed to stop giving chick flicks so much crap. "Okay, _The Fast and the Furious_ is kind of one of my favorite movies. And I kind of hate myself for it."

"I'll give you a pass on that one," she decided, her eyes sparkling. "I have a soft spot for Paul Walker."

"The cute blond guy, of course." Spike made a show of scoffing. Inwardly, though, he was crowing because he _knew_ he'd been right about the blond thing.

Keira snorted. "Please, like you weren't drooling over Jordana Brewster."

"I'm going to, uh, pull an American and plead the sixth."

"I'm pretty sure it's the fifth."

"I hate those fucking amendments."

* * *

Over the next two hours, Spike discovered that Keira was actually a pretty damn good conversationalist. Once she figured out that Spike was sincere about wanting to find another way to get to know her, she opened up almost shockingly fast—until he realized that he, and everyone else on the team, had been completely wrong about her. She wasn't the cold, aloof person they'd assumed her to be; she was warm, funny, and kind of insanely hot. (Yeah, so, maybe he shouldn't have ordered that last Corona.) As it turned out, all she'd needed was for someone to respect her boundaries… of which there were, admittedly, many.

Somehow, they started talking about relationships. "I haven't been able to make one last for three years," Spike said. "This job… and living in my parents' basement…" He loved both of those things, but sometimes they really got in the way of his game.

"I haven't even gone on a second date in three years," Keira replied. "I seem to be really good at picking up assholes."

He frowned at that. "No second dates at all?" he asked, trying not to wonder if she'd had sex with any of the first dates. _Jesus Christ, how drunk am I right now?_

"None," Keira confirmed. Her next words were quieter, almost subdued. "Most guys don't see me as someone they actually want to be in a relationship with, you know? I'm basically just—" She cut herself off. "Well, whatever," she said, taking a long drink of water as if she could hide behind the bottle. "What's gone wrong with your relationships?"

Spike didn't take the bait. "That's bullshit," he told her.

"What?" she asked, blinking.

"Them. Not wanting to date you." He needed some beer to wash that one down. "It's bullshit." _You're gorgeous, for starters, _he was tempted to say, but he wasn't nearly drunk enough.

As much as Keira tried to hide it, he could tell that she was flattered. She got the slightest blush on her cheeks, and damn if it didn't make him feel good. "Thanks," she muttered, embarrassed.

"Relationships are tough, though," he said, trying to cheer both of their single asses up. "Especially with this job. We go overtime at least three days a week, and we're still on call on the weekends and holidays. My last girlfriend dumped me because she got sick of never seeing me. Said it was like we weren't even in a relationship anymore." He had liked her, too. At the end of the day, though, she'd been right: he just wasn't in a position to commit to anything serious.

"That sucks. I'm sorry," Keira said, looking like she'd tried but hadn't been able to come up with a more comforting response. "Relationships aren't really worth it, anyway."

He glanced at her in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"They take too much time and effort," Keira complained. "And then they want to know all about you." ("Heaven forbid," Spike remarked.) "Like, honestly, at this point I just want a guy I can call up at whatever ungodly hour I get off shift, and who's not going to want to meet my family or any of that shit."

"So… friends with benefits?" he hedged, and for a fleeting moment—nope, he wasn't even going to consider it.

"Exactly." Her eyes narrowed, and he had the terrifying suspicion that she'd guessed where his mind had gone; but nothing was amiss in her tone as she elaborated, "No hassle, no drama, just someone who's not an asshole and is up for having sex at completely random hours of the night."

Part of him still couldn't believe he was having this conversation with Keira, but another part of him was seriously considering her viewpoint. "That actually… sounds pretty good," he admitted. Then, because she was looking at him like that again, he hastily (and truthfully) added, "For now, I mean. Not something I'd want in the long run."

"Yeah? What's the long run, then?"

She was eying him curiously, like she was expecting him to let her in on a secret, and he found himself stumbling over his words as he replied, "Um, well, you know—family, kids, the usual. Italian, so—I mean, I'm Italian, so, yeah. You?"

Even partially buzzed, and more than a little flustered by the recent turn in their conversation, Spike knew he'd run up against another invisible boundary. Keira's flinch was almost imperceptible, but something in her eyes had closed off again. There was a harsh _clunk_ as she set her drink down. "Don't think that's in the cards for me," she said, not to him but to the water bottle. "It's getting late. I should go."

Her abruptness caught him off guard, and when she stood he instinctively followed—only to bang his shins against the table and lose his balance, falling right back into his seat.

Keira paused at that, giving him a quick, thorough examination. "Yeah, you're not driving home," she concluded. "Where do you live? Woodbridge, right?"

This was a spectacularly bad idea, in more ways than one. "Nah, I'll be good to go in another hour," he said, ignoring the fact that coming home so late would wreak havoc on his sleep schedule. "You go ahead."

Keira rolled her eyes. "Except that'll make you a zombie tomorrow, so no, you're coming with me."

"Bossy, are we?" he muttered, trying to convince himself that there was nothing wrong with accepting a ride home from a friend. It didn't matter that he'd been battling an attraction to said friend all evening, right?

_Damn right it doesn't matter,_ he thought. _She's way out of your league._ Apart from her terrible social skills and general refusal to volunteer any information about her private life—which, he reminded himself, was no longer necessarily the case—Keira was pretty much the definition of every girl he'd never had a chance with.

Oh, and there was kind of that whole coworkers thing.

"Just get up," Keira replied, unmoved by his grumbling. "We can carpool tomorrow so you can get your car before work."

"That's too far out of your way," Spike protested. He'd been about to give in and stand up, but now he sat right back down again. "Seriously, I'll be fine."

She didn't budge. "Then get Lou to drive you in the morning. Now come on, or I'll drag you."

The thought of Keira attempting to haul him through a bar, when she couldn't have weighed anything more than a hundred and twenty pounds, would have been hilarious if he hadn't known she could absolutely make good on her threat. When he stood up, it was pure self-preservation. "All right, fine. Let's go."

She led him to her car in the parking lot, held the passenger door open for him, and told him not to look in the back. Spike, of course, promptly did, and his eyes widened at the sight: heaps of clothes in every conceivable corner, a car seat that was overflowing with Power Ranger toys in her nephew's absence, and more CDs than he could count.

"Why do you have so many Madonna albums?" he asked suspiciously.

Keira gave him what he could only describe as an expertly-executed side-eye. "Because Madonna is my lifespiration," she said, and Spike was still trying to figure out what that meant when she turned on the car and "Vogue" came blasting out of the speakers.

* * *

It would have been very easy for Spike to tell everyone on the team about Keira's terrible taste in music, or for that matter anything she'd revealed to him that night; God knew most of them could use something to talk to her about. But for some reason, he never said a word about that night in the bar, and he found himself lying when Lou asked if he'd stayed long with Keira.

Of course, that didn't mean he went back to treating her like a stranger. In front of the others, he never alluded to having more than a professional acquaintance with her (although he redoubled his efforts to include her in the general conversation, ignoring each and every warning look she gave him)—but whenever they were alone, he found a way to tease her about her Madonna obsession or inquire about her brother and nephew. She seemed receptive to his cautious advances; she never told him off, at any rate, and he could tell she appreciated his avoidance of her "off-limits" topics.

(Once, and only once, he made the mistake of asking her if she ever got the chance to see her folks at home. If the fact that she very pointedly ignored the question wasn't enough, she spent the rest of the shift making sure their paths never crossed. Lesson: learned.)

It was always two steps forward, one step back with Keira; yet gradually he eased past her outer defenses, until he thought he could reasonably be counted on to make her smile at least once a day. She, too, seemed to want to keep their friendship discreet, so she rarely sought him out at work—but one night she texted him complaining about "the absolute dipshits" on her commute home, and after that, well, Spike may have started sneaking a few texts to her during the day.

Mindful of his instincts, though, which were warning him about the covert side of their relationship, Spike was careful not to cross any lines. For the most part, this wasn't too difficult: he kept their conversations strictly friendly (and their texting sessions emoticon-free), and Keira was content to follow his lead. They never revisited their discussion about friends with benefits, and more importantly they never spoke about that moment when Spike's guard had slipped. As time passed, Spike convinced himself that Keira had either forgotten it or simply hadn't noticed in the first place.

Of course, with Keira, there was no such thing as a guarantee.

"So," she said one night, when they were back at the bar (again) and the only ones left (again—and Spike couldn't help but notice that this had been happening rather frequently lately), "we should probably talk about that time you almost asked me to be your fuck buddy."

Spike actually spit out his drink, which wasn't his proudest moment. "You just went right into that, wow," he spluttered as he cleaned himself up, realizing too late that he hadn't denied anything.

"Well, I could have beat around the bush a bit"—a small grin tugged at her lips—"but that's not really my style. So let's talk."

"I wasn't—I didn't—" was Spike's feeble, last-ditch attempt at salvaging some sort of professionalism from the situation.

"I can always tell when a guy wants to fuck me," Keira replied, and he could have sworn her lips were taunting him as they curled over _fuck_ and released. "You're never as good at hiding it as you think you are." Just as Spike was starting to worry that she was actually pissed at him, her leg nudged his under the table, a tactile reassurance that he was in the clear. "Anyway, you obviously wanted to make the offer, and I would have taken you up on it. So."

It shouldn't have been possible for Keira to shock him more than she already had, but he almost asked her to repeat herself because he couldn't quite process what he was hearing. "Um… you what?" was the best he could manage.

"Well, if you think about it, it makes sense," Keira replied, as if they were discussing carpooling or coordinating coffee runs. "Our schedules are both shitty, which is why actual relationships don't work, but they're both shitty at the same times."

"Because we're coworkers," Spike pointed out. "And there's the priority of life—"

"But as long as it's just sex, how is that any different from us hanging out off-duty?" Keira asked, raising her eyebrows. "Personally, I'd be more concerned about you breaking the priority of life code for Lou."

"Not funny," he muttered, only partially joking. He hoped he would never have to be put to that particular test, because he didn't know what he'd do if Lou were in danger.

Keira shrugged. "But true. Look, don't take this the wrong way, but I'm not in love with you and I'm pretty sure you're not in love with me. So as long as we keep things professional on the job, we shouldn't have any problems. We're just two coworkers who happen to find each other attractive enough to have sex with. Big deal."

"But you like blonds," he said, stupidly.

She smiled at that—a low, mischievous smile that went straight to his groin. "And I like you."

He examined her for a moment, still half-expecting there to be a catch. "You're serious about this," he finally realized.

Keira didn't even blink as she replied, "Completely serious."

Which meant there was only one logical question left to ask: "When do you want to start?"


	3. Run Around the Rules

**Part III: Run Around the Rules**

Keira insisted on waiting a week, because "you've kind of got that whole deer-in-the-headlights thing going on, so you should take some time to get your shit together." Needless to say, this did terrible things to his concentration (especially since he was convinced she'd worn those yoga pants during Tuesday's workout for the sole purpose of tormenting him), and all in all he was very glad when Friday finally came around.

As he was heading out to the parking lot, he received a text from Keira.

_What do you say we skip the drinks tonight?_ was all she'd written.

They went to Spike's place, because out of the two of them he was the only one who lived on a different floor from their relatives. Fortunately, his parents were fast asleep at this hour, so no introductions were required as he led her down to the basement. "Watch out for the wires," he warned, turning on the light and praying he didn't have anything embarrassing lying around.

"Holy shit," she replied, gaping at his electronic equipment. "That's a lot of stuff… ooh, is that a Nintendo?"

Spike grinned. "Yes, it is." He wouldn't have pegged Keira as a gaming enthusiast, but it was kind of adorable to watch her eyes light up like a little kid in a toy store. "You play?"

"I used to." Her voice had softened; he didn't think she'd even noticed. "In high school. Wi—one of my friends had one, so we'd spend hours on it."

Spike was surprised by the voluntary allusion to her childhood, and he considered taking advantage of the undoubtedly fleeting opportunity. But then Keira cleared her throat, and he knew the moment—if there had ever been one in the first place—was lost.

"So," she said, taking in the lack of seating options and settling herself on his bed, "we should lay out some ground rules. As you called it."

That was probably a good idea. "What'd you have in mind?" he asked as he sat down beside her.

"Well," she began, in such a business-like tone that he wondered how many times she'd done this before, "first, obviously there's no reason for this to be exclusive. If you want to sleep with other people, that's fine, and don't give me crap if I do the same."

"Fair enough."

"But"—her eyes flashed a warning—"if you start dating someone, and it looks like it's going somewhere, then give me a heads-up, cause I don't do being the other woman. And the same goes for me."

Spike smirked. Given how woefully inadequate his dating life had been lately, "I'm not thinking that's going to be an issue."

"Still," she insisted. "Oh, and protection. I'm on the pill, but condoms are non-negotiable. Cause I also don't do getting pregnant."

"You're very upfront about all this." Spike wasn't sure whether to be impressed, amused, or terrified.

Keira shrugged. "I have to be. You have no idea how many guys are idiots about this stuff. So you're good with wearing condoms?"

"Always do." He didn't like to take chances, either. "But while we're talking rules, no texting about any of this while we're on the clock."

"Agreed."

"So," Spike began, after a few seconds of grim silence in which both of them contemplated the consequences of this—_thing_, whatever it was—being brought to Greg's attention (or, worse, Ed's). "Are we good for now, or is there anything else you want to cover?"

"No, I think I'm—oh, wait." Keira's face fell and she bit her lip, looking uncharacteristically anxious. "There's, um, something you should know before we…" She waved her hands in a way that Spike supposed meant _fuck each other, or whatever_. "Shit. I probably should have mentioned this earlier. I just never know when to bring it up."

Realizing that she was more nervous than she was trying to let on, Spike said cautiously, "Better late than never."

"No, I know, it's just—" Keira sighed, took a deep breath, and bit the bullet. "I was in a car accident. A while ago. A drunk driver hit me and my car caught on fire and—well, now my upper body looks like this."

She rolled up the hem of her shirt, revealing a strip of flesh that had been burned, blistered, and scarred beyond recognition. Spike managed not to wince, but barely. "Are you okay?" he asked instead, not wanting to risk making her even more self-conscious.

Keira tugged her shirt back down. "I'm fine. It doesn't hurt. I just can't wear short sleeves or swimsuits, cause… yeah. It sucks. But, um, if that's a deal-breaker for you, I totally under—"

"Whoa, hey," Spike interrupted, his heart sinking as he realized why she had wanted to warn him. Looking her straight in the eye, he promised, "This doesn't change anything. Not for a second. I want to do this, as long as you're still comfortable."

"Spike, seriously, you don't have to protect my feelings." Keira wouldn't meet his gaze as she added, "You definitely wouldn't be the first guy to bail after finding out. It's not a big deal."

"It is a big deal." Spike's stomach churned with anger as he imagined how she must have felt after each rejection. "Those guys are assholes. You don't deserve that."

"I probably do," she said quietly.

Before Spike could figure out how to respond to that, she blinked and shook her head. "Wow, sorry, did not mean to be a buzzkill. Especially since we have better things to do." She winked at him, then stood up. Spike watched as she put her handbag on his dresser and then, her back still to him, removed her jacket in one lazy shrug. His mouth was dry when she turned around again.

"So," she said, approaching in a slow, deliberate fashion that made Spike feel very much like prey, "do I get to kiss you or what?"

Somehow he managed, "I have no problems with that."

"Good." Keira's eyes gleamed as she placed her palm on his chest and pushed. He'd barely landed on his back before she was on the mattress, straddling him with remarkable efficiency. "I've been waiting for this all week," she said, leaning down to kiss him.

_God, she's good,_ was all Spike had time to think before his senses were completely filled with her—before the taste of her lip gloss and the sensation of her hips grinding against his drove every other thought from his mind. Having imagined this moment perhaps more frequently than he'd have cared to admit, now Spike took pleasure in finally being able to run his hands over her thighs, going up, up—

—until she caught his wrists and redirected him to her waist, breaking their kiss to warn him, "I don't like it when guys grab my ass."

Spike adjusted course, trailing his fingers up the curve of her spine until he had access to her hair. He breathed her in, catching a faint hint of her citrus-y shampoo. She smelled exotic, tropical, like something far away from Toronto.

Wanting more, he flipped her over—_Thank you, Wordy,_ he thought, although Wordy probably hadn't had this in mind when he'd taught Spike the maneuver—and bent down to kiss her again. Keira gave him an approving look, as if flat on her back and pinned beneath him she was still completely in charge. And she probably was.

After thoroughly attending to her lips and throat (he particularly enjoyed the sounds she made when he reached a certain spot on her neck) he began moving lower. "Is it all right if I take your shirt off?" he asked, once he had gone as far as the conservative neckline would allow.

She stiffened slightly. "You don't have to if you don't want to."

"I won't if you don't want me to," Spike promised. "But if you're comfortable with it, then so am I."

Keira hesitated, biting her lip. "Okay," she decided after a moment, glancing quickly at him to gauge his reaction. "Okay, just—let me get up for a second—"

He sat back, allowing her enough room to wriggle out of her shirt. She tossed it aside, the casual gesture belying her obvious embarrassment. But though the scars were even worse when he could see how they covered her entire torso, Spike didn't so much as bat an eyelash. "You still good?" he asked, thumbing her bra strap in a silent question.

She shook her head. "I'd rather leave this on. For now." Propping herself up on her elbows, she looked expectantly at him. Her familiar smirk returned as she added, "I hope I'm not the only person taking my clothes off here."

Spike was happy to oblige, and his shirt soon joined hers on the floor. Then he carved a path of kisses down her stomach, liking to take his time before he got to the best part. After several seconds of this, however, he noticed that she wasn't reacting the way most women did—and then, a heartbeat later, he berated himself for his stupidity as he realized why. "Can you feel any of this?" he asked, gesturing to a knot of scar tissue.

"Um… not really," she admitted, and the apologetic note in her voice made everything even worse. "Kind of? Like, I can feel you there, but that's about it."

"I'm sorry, I should have—"

"Hey." She smoothed his hair away from his face—a gesture that was oddly affectionate, coming from her, and yet somehow dissipated the awkwardness between them. "Just come back up here and kiss me, okay?"

And when he did, she slipped a hand beneath the waistband of his jeans, defying the impossible angles as she all but made him forget his name. He was far from a blushing virgin, but Keira… well, better not to think about how she'd gotten so experienced.

Because he didn't want to be the guy who came during a hand job (and he suspected he might, if he let her continue), he murmured in her ear, "How do you feel about oral?"

Keira stopped and looked at him, her eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. "You want me to go down on you?"

Her tone was decidedly neutral, but Spike heard in it the wariness of someone who had too often been expected to give and never receive, who had learned to judge partners based on their demands in the bedroom. _Who the hell has she been having sex with?_ he wondered, before deciding—again—that he didn't want to know.

Keira was still waiting for a response, so he told her the truth: "No—well, I mean, I will definitely not complain if you want to later on, but right now I want to go down on you."

A smile—and the tiniest hint of relief—crossed her face. "Have at it," she replied, relaxing into the pillows. Spike grinned and slid down her waiting body, adding a few extra kisses for good measure (it didn't seem right not to at least try to create some anticipation). When he got to her leggings, she made to help him pull them down, but he swatted her hand away. "Nuh-uh, you just lie back and enjoy."

"Confident, are we?" Keira retorted, but she was smiling as she reclined again. And since Spike _was_ confident in his ability to give head—he would never understand guys who refused to learn how to please their partner—he set about the task with enthusiasm. When Keira let out a surprised "mm," and opened herself even further to him, he knew he had her.

As far as lovers went, Keira was practically silent; beyond that first noise of encouragement, the only sounds he heard were her shallow breaths and his own tongue working between her legs. So he started paying attention to other things: the rise and fall of her stomach, the tiny tremors in her thighs, the way she dug her fingers into the sheets and then slowly released them. Before long, these movements were happening so frequently that he could tell she was close. He increased his efforts and she froze, then came apart beneath him. As she lay there, panting, he worked his way up her body until they were face to face again.

"You're really good at that," she remarked, her eyes still glazed over.

He allowed himself the tiniest of smirks. "I try."

"Oh, shut up," she said—and then he found himself on his back, blinking up at the ceiling in confusion as Keira reasserted control. "You're not the only one who knows that move," she murmured; and as she settled herself between his legs it became less clear what move she was talking about, and then Spike stopped caring when she unbuckled his jeans.

She purposefully took her time, teasing him through his boxers, working her lips against the fabric until it was damp for more than one reason. By the time she finally took them off, he was panting with anticipation—and it didn't help that she'd sprawled out over the lower half of his bed, providing him with an amazing view.

"I don't suppose you have a flavored condom?" she asked at length.

"Um… actually, yeah, I think I do," he replied, blindly reaching for his nightstand drawer. "Is strawberry okay?"

She pulled a face that seemed more befitting of a little kid than a grown woman. "I would actually rather eat my own puke than that flavor. Pass me a regular one."

"Wow." Spike gave her the condom. "So artificial strawberry's a no-go, but plain latex is fine?"

"Better than strawberry."

"You're crazy," he murmured as she put the condom on, though he meant it (mostly) in a good way.

Keira chose not to dignify his comment with a response. "Don't touch my hair," was all she said before she bent over and took him completely in her mouth.

What would have been Spike's reply was cut off by a rather undignified yelp. "Holy—shit!" he choked out, remembering just in time that thrusting was a dick move, no pun intended.

"Hm?" Her lips were still around him, so it came out as a vibration; then she lifted her gaze, locking eyes with him just as she began to move.

And there was no. _fucking_. way Spike could have said anything afterwards that remotely resembled English, so he didn't even bother trying. All the same, after a few amazing, incredible moments in which he might have died and gone to sex heaven (_Where did she learn how to do that?_ he kept trying not to ask himself), he summoned the willpower to tell her, "We should, um… before I…"

Keira pulled back, letting him slide through her lips in a way that almost undid him then and there. "What, think you won't be able to recover?"

"I'm going to need a few minutes," he said wryly.

Keira shrugged. "That's okay, we can play Mario Kart while we're waiting."

"Are you kidding me right now?"

"No, I've just been using you for access to your Nintendo," she deadpanned. "But I'm actually not kidding," she added, before bending down to make him hers again.

Spike was honestly surprised he lasted as long as he did. Eventually, though, her mouth was too hot and wet around him, and he may have cried her name as she finished the job, and then he was pretty much useless for anything except lying there. It wasn't until he caught his breath again that he realized Keira had, at some point, asked him a question.

"Sorry, what?"

Keira shot him an amused grin. "I _said_, lover boy, where's your trash?"

"Um…" For an embarrassing few seconds, he had no idea where his trash was. "Oh, um, there."

Keira visibly stifled her laughter as she discarded the used condom. "So I'd say this is working out," she remarked when she returned, lying beside him and staring up at his ceiling.

"No complaints here."

She smiled. "And none here."

Something inside Spike warned him not to question Keira's motives, not to risk ruining the moment or derailing their newly-established arrangement; but his curiosity had always gotten the better of him, and the words rose to his lips before he could stop them. "Why me?"

She looked over at him in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…" Hoping that his face wasn't reddening, Spike took the plunge. "You could have any guy you wanted. So why'd you pick me?"

"Not every guy," she said quietly, more to herself than to him; but she appeared to be giving serious thought to his query, until at length she explained, "I've been with a lot of assholes. I mean, a _lot_. And sometimes it doesn't really matter, cause who cares about their personality when you're just sleeping with them?" Spike wisely kept his mouth shut. "But lately… I don't know. I've just gotten sick of it. And watching Jason with Allie, it's like, why can't I get my shit together like they have? I don't need the house or the kid or any of that, but it'd be nice to have someone decent in my life.

"So… yeah, I guess that's why I 'picked' you. Because when someone respects your boundaries the way you have with me, you notice. I mean, we're all trained to make connections with people, but you're the only one on the team who just completely accepted that I don't want to talk about certain things—and then you went and became friends with me anyway. And maybe… well, it probably doesn't make a difference to you, because that's just who you are, but I can't remember the last time someone besides Jason or—" She stopped, mid-sentence, and swallowed before looking away. "It's just been a while," she told the ceiling, blinking rapidly. "Sorry, this is stupid—"

"It's not stupid." And while Spike would never admit it, because he knew she'd hate being the object of anyone's pity, he suddenly felt bad for her. Despite the lengths she went to push everyone away, she was clearly lonely—and it sounded like she had been for a long time.

_So why won't you let anyone close?_ he might have asked, but that would have been breaking her rules. And if he messed up now, then Keira wouldn't have a single teammate in her corner. Which was why the only thing he said was, "And you made a good choice, cause now you've got me and a Nintendo."

It wasn't his smoothest, but it still brought a smile to her face—and it gave her the opportunity to change the subject. "Can we play that?" she asked, sitting up.

"Sure thing," Spike agreed cheerfully. "Get ready to have your ass kicked."

"Hey, I haven't played since high school," Keira defended herself. "But whatever, as long as I get to be Toad—"

"_Toad_? You want to be _Toad_?"

"Shut up, Toad is the best—"

"He's a talking mushroom. Your point is invalid."

"Yeah?" She raised an eyebrow, lips quivering as she tried to bite back her amusement. "And who's your favorite character?"

"Yoshi, of course."

"Yoshi's extinct. At least mushrooms are survivors."

"That's a lot of talk from someone who's about to lose in the worst possible way."

Keira elbowed him, then leaned over the foot of the bed and picked up a controller. "Tell you what," she said as she resurfaced, glancing over her shoulder and smiling when she noticed him staring. "How about the winner gets to be on top?"

It took him a single heartbeat to figure out what she meant, and then a slow grin spread over his face. "You're on."

* * *

Playing naked Mario Kart was definitely a new experience for Spike (well, at least with someone else—sometimes getting dressed on weekend mornings was just way too much of a hassle), and it was one that he could imagine himself repeating very often if Keira was involved. She was ridiculously competitive, cursing whenever Toad fell victim to a banana peel or when Spike outmaneuvered her (which he made a frequent point of doing). When she wasn't fueled by road rage, she was completely in the zone, her face scrunched up in concentration as her hands gripped the controller.

And when Spike made good as promised and kicked her ass all the way to the end of the round, she simply sighed, put down her controller with a joking "Well, fuck" that told him she didn't mind in the slightest, then looked at him and said, "So."

Spike chuckled at her forwardness. "I take it you don't want to go for round two," he replied, gesturing towards the Nintendo.

The look in her eyes was one he had come to associate with mischief, shenanigans, and sexual innuendo. "Oh, I do," she assured him, "but not on Mario Kart."

"I think that can be arranged." He leaned in to kiss her, smiling when their lips met and she immediately pulled him on top of her. Patience was clearly not one of Keira's virtues—not that he had any complaints, being just as eager as she was to get down to business.

Somehow they wound up back at the top of his bed, a tangle of limbs and tongues, the air between them crackling with anticipation. Spike was reaching for another condom when Keira stilled below him, braced her hands against his shoulders, and said, "Wait."

He stopped immediately, wondering if she was having second thoughts—as late in the proverbial game as it was. Maybe sleeping with a coworker, even on a no-strings-attached basis, was a boundary she'd realized she couldn't cross. He started trying to figure out how he could climb off of her and put his clothes back on with minimal awkwardness.

"If we're actually going to do this," she began, biting her lip in an incredibly sexy, distracting way, "I have more rules."

"Like, in addition to the 'no questions about my childhood' rule?" he teased her.

She didn't laugh. Instead, he felt her stomach muscles tighten under his palm. "Yes. And I'm serious, so listen."

He quickly sobered. "I'm listening," he promised.

"Three rules," she said, holding up the same amount of fingers for emphasis. "One: don't pin me to the bed. Or restrain me. In any way."

"Deal." Bondage wasn't really his thing, either. "Missionary's okay, though, right?" he asked, suddenly conscious of how much more he weighed than her.

"Yeah. But I'm definitely going to be on top at some point," she said, a smirk briefly teasing her features.

He was not going to think about how gorgeous she looked in that moment. "What's the second rule?"

Something in her eyes closed off, a little part of her disappearing. "Don't slap me."

"What?" he asked. It wasn't like he'd never heard of someone getting off on spanking, but he hadn't been expecting her to bring it up.

"Don't slap me," she repeated forcefully. "Some people like that shit, but I don't. Slap me, and we're done."

"Bad experience?" he inquired, startled by her vehemence.

"Third rule," she said, her exquisitely blank face belying the fact that her stomach was still twitching: "Don't call me a slut, or a whore, or any of that. I can't stand dirty talk."

"Well, you don't have to worry about that," Spike assured her. "I can't, either."

He was rewarded with the ghost of a grin. "Good." She gently nudged him with her hips, and he felt a low coil of pleasure stirring in his groin. "What about you? Do you have any more rules? Or things you don't like?"

He thought for a moment. "Role-play."

"Have you tried it?" Keira asked, her eyebrows shooting up.

Spike grimaced. "You have no idea how many of my girlfriends have begged me to arrest them."

Keira burst out laughing. "I never realized that was a perk of the job," she finally managed, gasping.

"Yeah, yeah." And then, to shut her up, he kissed her. "So," he began, several minutes later, "any final rules I should know about?"

Keira shook her head, though an uneasy expression had crept back into her face. "No, but, um… can you just—"

Already knowing what she needed, Spike rolled off to the side, allowing her to sit up again. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, I—"

There was a _click_, so soft that at first he didn't think anything of it; but then Keira swallowed, and he realized she'd unclasped her bra. "I feel kind of stupid, just wearing this," she admitted, even as she kept still and didn't shrug it off. She was trying to feign indifference, but she was watching him, evaluating. He could tell she was prepared to redo the clasp if there was the slightest hesitancy in his reaction.

"Don't feel stupid," he told her. He wanted to reach out and remove the bra himself, just to show her that he didn't give a damn about her scars, but he knew it would be better for her to do it in her own time. "Whatever's more comfortable for you. Don't worry about me."

After a pause, she cautiously reached up and slid the straps off her shoulders. As the bra fell away, it became clear that the worst damage was at her breasts: they had been so badly burnt that her nipples were indistinguishable from the scar tissue. Keira's jaw tightened, and for a moment he thought she was going to cry. Then, with a concerted effort, she pulled herself together and offered a weak smile. "I guess you could say I'm unforgettable," she joked.

And the funny thing was, she was right—but not for the reason she thought. No matter what happened between them in the future, regardless of how long they were in each other's lives, Spike knew that nothing short of senility could make him forget a woman like Keira.

"Hey," he said now, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Their eyes met, and he meant every word as he told her, "You're crazy beautiful. Scars and all."

Keira blushed, her cheeks turning a fiery red as she considered him. "I think I'll keep you around," she finally replied; yet there was gratitude in her eyes, more than she could ever bring herself to express. And Spike didn't need her to.

But as they came together again, and embarked upon a road of discovery, adjustment, and laughter, one last warning flitted across Spike's mind.

_Be careful with this one,_ he thought to himself,_ or you might just fall in love._


End file.
